


fine, fresh, fierce

by theladyscribe



Category: Hockey RPF, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alex Galchenyuk's Werewolf Beard, Blow Jobs, Boston Pride, F/M, Face-Sitting, Flirting, Montreal Canadiens, One Night Stands, Smut, Team USA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: Hilary figures she's felt off all day long because she spent the entire day with a trio of jailbait, all of whom are nearly as talented as she is. That'd be enough to knock anyone off balance, and it doesn't even account for the way Galchenyuk has flirted with her since they first got on the ice this morning. He looked kind of tense when she first walked into the locker room this morning, but she made a snarky comment about his werewolf beard and he lightened right up, giving as good as he got. He'd have kind of a baby face if it weren't for the whole werewolf beard thing, but his smile is quick and his jokes aren't horrible.He's Hilary's type, is what she's saying.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_spruce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spruce/gifts).



> Many thanks to H for the beta and J for the cheerleading. Title is from "California Gurls" by Katy Perry and Snoop Dogg.

Bauer takes them to dinner, and Hilary is never gonna complain about a free meal, even if she still feels weird about being the oldest person by five years in their group of four. Larkin, Eichel, and Galchenyuk seem like okay guys, though, and the food is pretty fantastic. So is the wine, for that matter, and Hilary drinks a lot of it. Probably more of it than she should.

In her defense, she's felt half a step out of true all day. She figures it's because she spent the entire day with a trio of jailbait, all of whom are nearly as talented as she is. That'd be enough to knock anyone off balance, and it doesn't even account for the way Galchenyuk has flirted with her since they first got on the ice this morning. He looked kind of tense when she first walked into the locker room, but she made a snarky comment about his werewolf beard and he lightened right up, giving as good as he got. He'd have kind of a baby face if it weren't for the whole werewolf beard thing, but his smile is quick and his jokes aren't horrible.

He's Hilary's type, is what she's saying.

And right now, he has a knee casually pressed against hers under the table. There doesn't seem to be any intent in it — he might not even realize that it's her knee he's bumping — but it's there, a casual distraction as they eat and drink on their sponsor's dime.

Hilary is still buzzing from the wine when they load into taxis to go back to the hotel, which may explain why she turns to Gally and says, "So, Habs player, where can we go in this city that won't get you murdered?"

"Murdered?" he asks.

"Yeah," Hilary says. "It's Toronto, you're a Hab, so we gotta go somewhere you won't get killed just for existing."

"There's a bar in the hotel," Gally points out. "They probably won't murder me there."

"Yeah, but I wanna go somewhere. Know any dive bars? Hot jazz clubs? Something?"

Gally lets out a ridiculous laugh and scratches at his sideburns. Hilary kind of wants to put her face right there, see if she can smell his shampoo, but she doesn't.

"I might know a place," Gally says. He leans forward to redirect the cab driver. When he settles back into his seat, he asks, "Should I text Larkin and Eichs? Have them meet us there?"

"Only if you want to," Hilary says, hoping he doesn't.

Gally unlocks his phone and looks at it for a moment before locking it again and putting it back in his pocket. "Nah," he says, smiling at her. "They're kind of lame anyway."

The bar he takes them to is exactly the type Hilary was hoping for: upscale enough that it has interesting beers on tap and they're unlikely to get hassled for autographs, but divey enough that Hilary won't break the bank on two drinks. The Jays game is on tv, and there's a handful of good ol' boys watching it as they nurse their beers. The bartender greets Gally with a nod, like she knows him because he frequents the place, not because of who he is. Hilary likes the place already.

They order whiskeys and sit down at a booth toward the back of the bar. Gally slides in first, and on impulse, Hilary sits down next to him instead of across from him, bumping thighs intentionally. Gally jumps a little and moves his leg. It's awkward, suddenly, and Hilary copes by drinking too fast and nearly choking on the burn of the whiskey.

Gally screws up his face, like he's trying not to laugh at her while she regains her composure.

When she finally stops coughing, she takes a deep breath and starts, "So, Habs player."

"Alex," he interjects.

"Alex," she repeats. "You've had quite the season."

Gally raises an eyebrow. "So have you."

"Yeah, but yours has been a lot more interesting." She leans toward him and bats her eyelashes at him, going for over-the-top flirtation.

"That's one way of putting it," he snorts. "Can we not talk about it?"

"Sure," Hilary says evenly, leaning back again. "What should we talk about instead? The World Cup? The Olympics? Sidney Crosby's ass?"

Gally nearly spits his drink. Score one for Hilary. "Please can we talk about anything except Sidney Crosby's ass."

Hilary laughs out loud. "Fine, fine, Olympics it is. Do you think the summer games have better orgies than the winter games? Because on the one hand, there's a lot more people there. But on the other hand, the Canadian men's team _really_ knows how to party."

Gally is shaking now, and it takes Hilary a moment to realize he's suppressing laughter. "You really know how to turn on the charm, don't you?" he wheezes out after several minutes.

Hilary thinks she should be offended, but he's grinning at her, that sharp flirty smile he's flashed at her off and on all day long. "My bros tell me I'm the best at it," she says, deadpan.

"I think your bros have been lying to you," he chirps back. He knocks his elbow into hers, a companionable nudge that lingers.

"Probably," she sighs dramatically, getting another laugh out of him. She likes his laugh; it makes his face light up.

Gally finishes his drink and leans across Hilary, resting a hand on her thigh, to signal the server for another round. When he leans back, he doesn't move his hand, his fingers picking at her inseam. It sends a rush of heat through her, and oh yeah, that's what they're here for.

The server brings them their drinks, and Gally still doesn't move his hand. Hilary thinks about moving her leg, letting it slip closer to Gally, but she doesn't want to spook him.

Instead, she sips at her drink and talks about nothing, and thinks hard at him to keep going. When Hilary glances up at him again, Gally is smirking a little, like maybe she's got all her frustration written across her face.

Hilary gulps down the last of her whiskey, savoring the burn this time. She places the glass on the coaster and fishes some cash out of her pocket. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah," he says. "I thought you'd never ask."

They catch a cab back to the hotel and go to her room. The first thing Hilary does once the door is shut is shove her face into Gally's sideburn and breathe deeply. Gally smells like generic shampoo and a hint of sweat. It's just as good as she imagined.

"What are you — that tickles," Gally says. Hilary feels him inhale sharply as she mouths along the edge of his beard.

She pulls away momentarily. "Your beard tickles," she tells him.

"Sorry," he says.

"Don't be; I like it." She proves it by rubbing her nose along it some more, which elicits a shuddering breath from Gally. "I wanna blow you," she tells him. "And then I want you to go down on me."

Gally nods hurriedly. "Yeah, okay," he says, voice a little high-pitched. "That — that sounds good."

"Good." Hilary drops to her knees and pushes Gally's shirt up so she can nip at his abs while she undoes his pants. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him clench and unclench his fist, so she pulls back far enough to tell him, "If you wanna touch me, you can."

To her surprise, Gally shakes his head mutely. Hilary shrugs and pulls Gally's jeans down to his ankles. His cock is tenting his boxer-briefs, maybe not full-mast, but definitely getting there. Hilary thinks about teasing him, maybe licking him through his underwear, but she can hear Gally's breath picking up and he's starting to squirm just from her running her hands back up his thighs. She pulls his underwear down and just goes for it.

She licks at the head of his cock and fondles his balls with one hand while the other strokes up and down his thigh. Gally makes some incredible noises — not quite moans, but not exactly whimpers, either. She's pretty sure his knees are about to buckle, which is kind of fucking awesome. He comes pretty quickly, and sinks to the floor as soon as Hilary pulls off him.

"Shit dude, you gonna be up for anything else?" she asks, wiping a hand across her mouth. Gally looks kind of ridiculous, blissed out with his head back against the hotel door, his pants pooled at his ankles, and his dick hanging limply against his thigh. Hilary didn't mean to break him, but it's a good look on him just the same.

"Gimme a sec," he grumbles, though there isn't any heat to it.

Hilary nods toward the bathroom. "I'm gonna —"

Gally nods. "Sure."

Hilary shuts the bathroom door behind her. She runs the tap and stares at herself in the mirror. She suddenly feels a little… not dumb, exactly, but unsure. Maybe this was a really stupid idea. Gally's young, and sure, she's still pretty young too, but she's not that young, and. Hilary stops and shakes her head at herself. This is not the time to have second thoughts.

She rinses her mouth, takes a deep breath, and steps back out of the bathroom.

Gally has moved from the room's entryway to the bed. He's fully naked now, clothes piled on the single chair in the room, shoes tucked under it. There's a flush to his cheeks, like he's embarrassed now, even though he definitely doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about.

Hilary looks down at her own clothes. "I think I'm a little overdressed now," she quips, which gets a small laugh out of Gally. Hilary moves toward the bed, kicking off her shoes as she goes, and comes to stand between his legs. "Help me out?"

Gally responds by putting his hands on her waist, skimming them under her shirt. His touch is light enough to tickle, so Hilary places her own hands over his and presses them against her.

"Come on," she says, "you're killing me, Smalls."

It gets a grin out of Gally, but he gets the message, adding a little more pressure as he slides his hands up. Hilary lifts her arms, and it takes a little finagling due to the awkward angle, but Gally gets her shirt off. He goes for her pants next, pulling them down the same way she did his. Hilary steps out of them and straddles his thighs. Gally grips her waist again, rubbing circles into her hips with his thumbs.

Hilary leans down to kiss him, slipping him some tongue. She can feel his cock starting to chub up again, and she smirks against his lips as she grinds down just to get a reaction from him.

Gally pulls away and pants, "I thought you wanted me to go down on you."

"I do," Hilary says with another little grind of her hips. She smirks. "Actually, I wanna sit on your face."

Gally blinks owlishly at her. "Okay," he says. "How do you wanna —"

Hilary climbs off him. "Here," she says. "Lie down with your head on a pillow, near the headboard." She directs him until he's in position, lying on his back. His chest is rising and falling rapidly; Hilary wonders if he's ever done this before, but doesn't embarrass him by asking.

Hilary pulls her panties off and knee-walks up the bed, settling with her shins on either side of Gally's face. "Okay?" she says.

"Yeah," Gally breathes, putting his hands on her thighs and pulling her close enough to get his mouth on her.

He's a little sloppy, unpolished, but enthusiastic, licking along Hilary's folds. Gally's beard tickles at her groin; she'll probably have beard burn from it. Hilary doesn't mind. Gally slips a hand up, sliding his fingers along the sensitive skin at the junction of Hilary's groin. She gasps, "Keep doing that."

Hilary can feel Gally smile against her as he complies. He traces his fingers there for a bit longer, and then he dips one inside her along with his tongue. Hilary shudders, her thighs spasming a little. She's close, she can feel it, sensation starting to burn up from her groin, but she needs more pressure.

"Come on, Alex," she whines. "Touch my —" She doesn't even finish her sentence before he's dragging a wet finger up to her clit. He pinches it a little harshly, but it's just the right side of painful to tip Hilary over the edge.

She sags a little as she comes down from her orgasm, not as careful as she should be, judging by the somewhat pained noise Gally makes. Hilary apologizes and gingerly lifts one wobbly thigh over Gally's chest. She slides down on the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

"That was fun," Hilary sighs. She glances at Gally's face. It's a mess, spit and come smeared across his lips and beard. They should probably clean up, but Hilary doesn't really feel like moving, and Gally doesn't seem inclined toward it either.

"Yeah," Gally says, tilting his head to look at her. "We should do it again sometime."

"Next Bauer event?" Hilary asks.

"It's a date."

**Works inspired by this one:**

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